The Silence of Unity
by LittleMaggie
Summary: Well-written story of Harry Potter. He is in mortal fear, constantly afraid of the inevitable. He goes to the library to do something risky to end his fear - and someone special comes to comfort him. R


Title: Silence of Unity  
  
Author: LittleMaggie  
  
Date created: January 31, 2002  
  
Disclaimer: This author has no ownership of any of these characters, nor does she want to own them for she will then only tarnish the perfection of J. K. Rowling's work.  
  
Rating: PG-13 for crude, violent images, angst, and a bit of romance.  
  
This takes place: Beginning of the fifth book  
  
~*~  
  
With a slow, tired exhale, the window was painted white by Harry's breath. He felt his eyes close. It had been four hours into the night now that he had been awake, tossing and turning, until he gave up and went to sit by the window in the common room, his body wrapped in a soft worn blanket with a Moorish pattern on it. His eyes blinked shut again and this time he didn't bother opening them again.  
  
His head tilted sleepily towards the glass of the window, his thigh pressing painfully into the corner of the wooden windowpane. Just three weeks ago, Neville had chipped the lower frame of the window and now a makeshift wooden board was put in to block the gaping hole beneath the window.  
  
'Well, I guess I'll be up all night again', Harry thought avidly in the most sarcastic tone he could muster, ' It's so drafty by the window'. His fingers tightened underneath his chin where the blanket folds fell short of his neck. His thumb slipped through a rip in the blanket and Harry sighed.  
  
' What was that spell Hermione taught me?' He wondered, his hand reaching beneath him to where his wand lay. Harry couldn't fathom what made him bring his wand with him. Lately, he felt stripped of all protection, like a frightened naked babe, without the wand held tight in his hand.  
  
His emerald green eyes scanned the wand that he now held in his two hands, mind whirring among many spells that he recalled from hours of class time. Recipes for potions from Snape's Potions class remained a hollow echo in the back of his head, Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration charms remained frozen in his mind, and yet he couldn't pull on the right string that lead to the spell that would fix the rip in his blanket.  
  
Exasperated, he tossed the corner of the blanket aside, along with his wand. There was no point to worry about the spell now. He had so much more to worry about.  
  
Harry let the icy window glass cool his forehead as he slowly pressed his face to the window, his nose flattening slightly. He watched the school grounds outside with ample curiosity, trying to keep his mind free of the clench of boredom.  
  
A tiny candle's flame flickered in the window of Hagrid's hut. Hagrid had a new creature hidden inside his tiny cabin – a giant plant that seemed to have a mind of its own. The plant would shrivel up and rustle angrily if it was left in utter darkness. Harry marveled that Hagrid hadn't dumped the plant out by now. Hagrid was tolerant of such annoyances, though, despite the fact the poor giant man had red eyes from sleepless nights and achy joints from maneuvering the heavy potted plant so it would be closer to the light source. Harry couldn't sympathize that much, though, for he himself spent many sleepless nights now.  
  
Somewhere out there, Voldemort was waiting, feeding on Harry's fear, waiting, waiting. . .  
  
Harry shivered and a frosty white cloud spread wildly across the window again. His body slumped down inside the blanket and he blinked rapidly, shivering as an icy coldness swept across him again. His shirt was sodden and his face streaked with sweat, yet Harry couldn't loosen the hold on his blanket. It felt like a metal shield, repelling all evil from him.  
  
He struggled to keep his eyes open. He felt sleep trying to claim him, yet he could not sleep. Not that his body wouldn't be able to, but his mind would definitely not rest. The moment Harry would allow himself to fall into the land of dreams, he would go into a hellish place.  
  
The world around him would rise up with darkness, and he'd be spinning around wildly like a puppet on strings, dancing through the stages of his horrid nightmare. Grotesque images flashed by his eyes – people spewing blood from wounds, mass panic as Muggles and wizards alike ran to escape a horrible and painful death, children holding out their hands to him, sobbing through burned holes instead of eyes, and all around those horrible red eyes! Voldemort, watching him, and waiting, his raspy breathing echoing along with Harry's every heartbeat.  
  
Harry bit his tongue so hard he felt the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. It had happened before, he wasn't even startled as he unclenched the tight press of his jaws. Body shaking, Harry tried to forget his nightmares.  
  
Then a fear gripped his heart, not allowing him to spin away from the massive horror he was envisioning. Memories of the agony in his nightmares flooded him again as he thought: what if Voldemort comes after me! What if he takes my friends, using them as bait?  
  
Harry imagined Voldemort pinning Hermione to the ground with a powerful spell, Harry standing just in front of him. Harry reached his hand out, screaming, trying to grasp Hermione's hand. Slowly her body would spin away from him though. With each step he took, she moved away. Then, Harry was whirling around to see Ron, and a giant wand pointing at him.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
Harry whispered the words to himself just as he remembered the deep voice saying it in his nightmare. Then, Harry would waken in cold sweat. Each and every time, he wore in a cold sweat, eyes blinking away remaining shards of his dreams; his fists clenching so tightly to the sheets that he swore he felt the fabric being kneaded into his flesh.  
  
Why did his world torment him, in rest and in toil, in night as in day?  
  
He pushed a curtain of dark hair from his face, his fingers feeling the soft ridges of his scar in disgust. The stupid scar, the thing everyone gaped at like a fish in the water, mouths opening and closing, saying words of awe: " Oh! It's Harry Potter!", "Look at that scar!", "The boy that lived!".  
  
" The boy that lived." Harry grimaced.  
  
' Lived in torment, more likely.' He pushed the blanket to the floor. The white coils of blanket fell quickly, sliding away like reality slid away in his nightmares. He stretched his leg out, toes rolling his wand closer to him again. Harry held it up and whispered: "Lumos."  
  
A light surrounded him slightly, his eyes narrowing as his pupils dilated from the sudden change of dark to light. Then, once he was used to the light, he pulled out a book, bound in soft red leather and clasped with a golden buckle. He had received it from Ron and Hermione as a joint birthday present. It was filled with letters and pictures. They had both simply made a scrapbook of all the letters they had exchanged, of pictures they'd taken, of items that reminded them of better times.  
  
Harry had gone to visit Ron at the end of this summer and there was a little golden wrapper taped on the first page, and beneath it in Ron's messy handwriting were the words:  
  
" Remember, Harry? Eat up!"  
  
Harry remembered very well. Fred and George had made a trick caramel candy and Harry was the one they tested it on. It had swelled Harry's cheeks until his face was round as a balloon. It hurt incredibly and Molly Weasley had a fit at the twins as she helped heal Harry up a bit with another spell.  
  
His fingers trembled as he turned the page. Happy pictures and letters, filled with joyous memories, all springing up to meet him. A tear fell from his eye, blurring the words of a letter he'd written Hermione. He'd told her he had a bit of a crush on her in the letter. When he signed it, he drew a heart. Now the heart had become a bluish blur, like a bruise on pale skin.  
  
Thinking of pale skin, Harry remembered Draco. Draco had been very sick over the summer and he was still out of school. There were rumors that he could die. Harry decided he would write Draco a letter apologizing for any mean words exchanged, and asking for a bit of reconciliation and maybe a friendship ('maybe' was the key word, for Draco was probably not into hopping into friendships just like that). Harry would never forgive himself if Draco died without Harry getting those words out. There on the next page, in fact, was a picture Hermione took of Draco and his two friends, Crabbe and Goyle. Draco looked very angry, and he was shouting at the camera. Then he turned away from the picture with a whirl of white-blonde hair. His two sidekicks stood stupidly for a while behind him and then followed him off the picture.  
  
Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he turned the page and then glanced at a picture of himself, flying a broom during an important Quidditch match at the beginning of the year. He kept flipping through the notebook. The corners of the pages were worn thin, crinkled and creased from constant use.  
  
Harry yearned for these happy memories, clutching at them like a mother clutches to a child when she fears the child's life. Harry didn't want the happiness of his live to be crowded out with the fear and misery that hung over him like a black cloud.  
  
'Voldemort will not have me.' Harry thought to himself, setting the book down. 'He can try to ruin everything, but I will not let him win.'  
  
Slowly, he stood and crossed the room, his wand raised high to illuminate his path through the room. He closed his eyes suddenly and then imagined that instead of crossing the room he was making his way through an enormous crowd of people cheering him. He had just defeated Voldemort; his wand was raised triumphantly, slightly smoking like a gun from the western movies the Dursleys watched.  
  
Harry stubbed his toe badly on the corner of his bed. Cursing very lightly, he walked around the bed and then knelt down beside a rickety old bureau that stood nearby. He had hidden his invisibility cloak beneath layers of socks and boxers. Yanking the cloak out quickly, Harry slammed the drawer shut again. The rubber band of some sort of underclothing caught in the way and stuck out oddly from the drawer. Harry didn't worry much for all the boys in the room couldn't care less about something like that. The room was a terrific mess anyhow.  
  
Harry pulled the cloak on and then thought, decisively: 'Tonight I'll go do it'.  
  
He slowly crept from the room, taking one last look outside at the merry light dancing in Hagrid's window. Then, Harry slowly made his way past the portrait of the fat lady and then down the hall.  
  
A couple minutes later, Harry was standing in front of the library. He reached into the pocket of his pants and then pulled out the old Marauder's map. He found Filch and Mrs. Norris. They weren't too close at all - he saw that they checking out something inside the ramshackle office that belonged to Filch. Harry shrugged and then pushed open the library doors. The grainy wood felt good under his fingertips as he then turned and closed the door behind him.  
  
He looked around himself and then smiled widely, his eyes taking in the rather fearful look of the library. ' Now, where's that book?' Harry thought. ' Now or never!'  
  
Harry pulled out a heavy tome from the nearest shelf and then flipped it open. He traced his finger through the spell list in back and then laughed out loud as he found the spell he was looking for. "Yes!" He cried out, and then thumped the book down on the table. " Here it is. . ."  
  
His hand shook as he read it to himself:  
  
~ Fear-less Spell ~  
  
Once this spell shalt be cast (correctly, of course,  
  
and according to the Wizarding Guide of Hand  
  
Coordination) then the caster shalt be immediately  
  
transformed into a being free of the human pains  
  
of the emotion fear. This spell is usually used on  
  
those who cannot sleep and are tortured completely  
  
by a fear of theirs. This spell shalt eliminate this  
  
fear for a limited time. It is to be repeated as needed.  
  
Harry skimmed down the list of warnings and then feasted his eyes on the spell. It was simple enough, a few short words, and then he would be free of his fear. His fear would become a worry of long ago. He would be able to sleep without worrying about having about Voldemort. His dreams would be free of the nightmares that would torture him long after he woke from them.  
  
" Here goes. . ." He raised his wand. It twitched readily in his hand.  
  
" Harry!" A voice rang behind him. Harry nearly dropped his wand, then steadied himself and turned to face the intruder. How could someone see him . . .? Harry suddenly realized that the hood of the invisibility cloak had fallen back, and only now did he catch it.  
  
Hermione was standing behind him, her hair aflame with the shine of the Lumos spell she had cast on her wand. " Harry, what are you doing?" She asked, softly.  
  
" I'm looking for a spell. What are you doing up?" He demanded.  
  
" I woke up. Girls have these extra senses about people they care about. Friends." She added the last word with a flush. "I heard you leaving the common room, and so I followed you down."  
  
Harry felt slightly angry. " You followed me?" He wasn't pleased with the idea at all. He straightened up an then said: " You could have at least told me I was being followed."  
  
She shook her head. " You'd have sent me back to the common room."  
  
Harry wished he'd at least checked the Marauder's Map to see if anyone else was nearby instead of just looking for Filch and Mrs. Norris. He sighed and then said: "This is something I have to do, Hermione."  
  
" What is it?" She moved closer, blinking curiously. Her eyebrows raised just barely as she saw the book lying on the table. "Why, that's the Fearless Spell!" She exclaimed in horror. " Harry, you need to be REALLY good with a wand to cast that spell!"  
  
Hermione put her hands on her hips angrily and then added: "Harry, you know you're not supposed to be casting it! Why. . .?"  
  
Harry shook his head. He didn't want to explain.  
  
Hermione moved closer to him, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. He shrank away from her touch, his mind flashing back to the image of her body spinning away from his in his nightmares, Voldemort standing over her, laughing as Harry ran to catch up to her. Never again will Harry allow himself to have that dream! He looked down at the book again, saying the words of the spell mentally, getting familiar with them.  
  
" Something could go wrong. There was a case two years ago, they wrote about it in the Prophet, remember? Some girl cast the Fearless Spell and she got it wrong, and it proved fatal." Her fingers, icy cold from the frosty fall night, touched Harry's elbow.  
  
He turned to face her, his eyes cold and frozen angrily.  
  
" You're not like yourself." She whispered. "What's happened to you?" Her eyes scanned his bloodshot ones.  
  
" Hermione, this is none of your business." Harry said, too harshly.  
  
She flushed. " Harry, I'm making it my business. I don't want anything to happen to you." Her fingers slowly traced up and down his elbow, a smile twitching up the corners of her lips. " Harry. . ."  
  
He smiled too. "Stop it." He pulled his elbow from her hand so she wouldn't tickle him more. Hermione moved closer to him, her hand pushing aside a strand of black hair that fell onto his forehead. Eyes narrowing slightly, she said:  
  
" Harry, having you around makes me feel safe. I'm afraid sometimes, and I have bad dreams where you are lost and I can't find you. I dream of Ron dying, or You-Know-Who getting you." She shook her head sadly. " Everyone's afraid." She slowly pulled the book away from Harry. " You don't need a spell, Harry. When everyone is together, when people are close, only then is fear really lessened!"  
  
She pushed the book back onto the shelf.  
  
" Hey. . ." Harry protested, but weakly.  
  
" Listen, Harry, and listen well." She suddenly grasped him, pulling him close to her, her chin on his shoulder in an embrace. " Harry, only a coward relieves himself of his fear by spells – or by other ways around it. When you're afraid you should be strong and live through it."  
  
She was so close, Harry could feel her heart beating, pressed so close to his chest. His hands were held out at his sides, afraid, fingers tingling slightly, not knowing what to do. Slowly, though, he wrapped his arms around her, as well.  
  
He felt a tear slip from her eye and land on his neck. Her body shook suddenly. "Harry, listen." Her eyelashes tickled his chin as he kissed her forehead and then pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes.  
  
" I'm listening." He said. He didn't know how it was happening, but he felt all the darkness and coldness of his dreams, of his fear, slowly pulling away.  
  
" What's bothering you? You can tell me. You shouldn't live through everything alone, you know. Together it's easier to be afraid then one person alone." She pried his fingers off the book he was trying to yank off the shelf again and then gave him a sharp look. "Please."  
  
Harry sighed and then sat down at the table. She sat down across from him, propping her head up with her hand. Harry felt the invisibility cloak slip down a bit further down his shoulders as he suddenly began to explain everything. He told her his dreams, his horror, his fear of Voldemort, of his friends being taken because of him. Hermione listened the whole time.  
  
Suddenly, she interrupted him.  
  
" Harry, without fear there wouldn't be bravery. Didn't you ever hear about how people see something happen – even Muggles. . . like, when a Muggle man sees a car speeding towards a child or something . . . the Muggle man is afraid, he is shaking, but suddenly this valor comes into him. He leaps in front of the car, pushing the child away. If he weren't afraid, he would never have the strength to do what he had done."  
  
Harry suddenly understood. The image of Voldemort in his mind – the ghastly images – were they preparing him, instead of frightening him off? Were they making him stronger, rising the bravery in his blood? Would he kill it all by casting the Fear-less Spell?  
  
Harry said, slowly: " Hermione. . ."  
  
He couldn't say it. His eyes filled with tears. Harry had never looked at it that way, he hadn't thought of sharing his fear with someone. He especially didn't want to tell Hermione, feeling that she might laugh at his fear. Instead she now shared it with him, shared his pain and worries.  
  
The gratitude that filled him was too much for words.  
  
Instead, he wrapped his hands around hers, gently letting the warmth of his hands wash over the cold of hers. The silence that followed was not one of utter fear or agony or pain. It was one of unity.  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
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